


Clinquant

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [83]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M, No plot whatsoever, You Have Been Warned, afternoon smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5593294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>clinquant: adjective: ˈkliŋ-kənt, klaⁿ-ˈkäⁿ: glittering with gold or tinsel</p><p>Middle French, from present participle of clinquer to glitter, literally, to clink, of imitative origin</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clinquant

It was one of those grey, dampish London afternoons, John in his chair reading an article about something that I deleted about four minutes ago, when a single beam of light danced in his hair, catching the silver and gold and turning it clinquant, the gold tinsel that still litters our flat had dulled in comparison.

"John."

"....mmmm?"

"You take my breath away."

"That's nice...wha-?"

I turned off the microscope and sat in front of him. "I may not say it as much as I should, but you are stunning."

John rolled his eyes. "Which jumper did you experiment on?"

"The reindeer with lights, but not the point. I'm already talking way too much, when all I want to do is undress you and fuck you into the carpet."

"What is taking you so long, then?" he whispered, throwing the paper in the fire.

I removed his socks, then lifted the least offensive Christmas jumper that he owned above his head and was somewhat relieved I didn't have to unbutton a shirt. I just wanted, needed to touch him everywhere.

I undid his trousers and slid them to the floor. I put my hand in his pants and felt his entire body jump. "God, please, Sherlock."

I took off my robe and pajama bottoms, dragged him to the faded carpet, and straddled him. There are days when I still cannot believe that the man under me belongs to me. He's mine, body, heart and soul. It makes me hard just thinking about how he has chosen me time after time. 

He's golden, still, after years of London fog, still bronzed and scarred from the heat of Afghanistan, maybe a bit softer, but still...

 

"Sherlock, love. I'm right here."

"Right."

I sit for a moment after I remove his pants, watching as his cock responds to my hand softly caressing it, and John moans my name like it is precious. I lay on top of him, feeling our cocks connect shoots sparks though me, and I move. I move until his hands are in my hair, and he is panting and almost at the edge.

With my hand I find the lube that always finds its way under the cushion of John's chair and slick my fingers up, and take my time loosening him up. "Hold on, love. Almost there."

I enter him slowly, and watch his face. His beautiful, strong face, the dark blue eyes, now completely blown for me. We both groan at the the feeling, he, full of me, me, me? I'm inside the best person I've ever known. My best friend, my lover, my husband...

"Move, god, Sherlock, move, love."

I move, and somehow I am able to keep my eyes open to watch as he is falling over the edge. "Touch me, I need-" I grasp his cock and he fucks my hand until he screams and sprays his cum all over my hand, my face, our chests and I follow. I follow after him, tumbling into that space, where the only thing that matters is the man who is holding me against his chest breathing with me.


End file.
